she told herself, hefting her valise. She’d long become accustomed to her place in the world. She could endure this disreputable man and his offspring for two months. She didn’t have a choice.
She swept past him without a word.
As she marched along the stone passageway, his presence behind her had the hairs on her nape standing on end. The skin across her shoulders felt tight and her ears strained to hear his footsteps. Was he drawing closer?
Stupid. He wasn’t going to harm her! He needed her to educate his son, and for that she had to be living and breathing. She took a deep steadying breath and stopped at the foot of a stone stairway that wound upwards. From an open door further along the passageway pots clattered in an oddly cheerful manner. That must be the kitchen. She glanced back for instructions.
The broad-shouldered Earl manoeuvred around her with a whiff of lemon soap and something fruity—an odd, if pleasant, combination.
‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Watch your footing and keep to the right, where the steps are widest.’
Good Lord, the place was as medieval inside as it was outside. Fortunately, sconces placed at intervals on the high stone wall lit the uneven stone steps. After one flight her calves burned with fatigue. She pitied the poor maids and footmen who ran up and down these stairs.
On the second landing he ducked beneath an arch and strode down the corridor leading off it.
Expecting to be shown her room, she followed him into a chamber halfway along. She blinked at the sudden dazzle of candles, staring at the four-poster bed where a small blond child was propped up on its pillows. The boy stared back with large blue eyes.
A liveried footman, aged about sixteen and nigh as tall as the Earl, stood stiff and straight just inside the door.
‘Wait outside, please, Peter,’ Ralston said.
The young man slipped out silently.
The Earl crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside the bed. He clasped the boy’s small pink hand with a worried frown. For the first time since she’d met him Ralston looked approachable, and the concern in his gaze caused a softening in her chest.
She stiffened against such foolish female sentiment. Her weakness, Iris called it.
‘Jonathon,’ Ralston murmured, patting the boy’s hand, ‘here is Mrs Drake, your governess. She doesn’t look so very bad, does she?’
Both Earl and child regarded her gravely.
Candlelight glinted gold in the Earl’s brown eyes and shone onto a sticky substance amid his hair’s dark waves. Blood on his shirt and something nasty in his hair. What had he been doing when she arrived?
Inwardly Sarah shuddered. She didn’t dare imagine!
Dash it, she was a governess. Here to teach a small boy his letters. The Earl was her employer and what he did with his time was none of her business.
She smiled at the little boy, who looked like an absolute angel—the kind one found painted on church ceilings. ‘Good evening, Jonathon. I have been looking forward to our meeting.’
The little boy’s gaze swivelled to his father. ‘I don’t want a governess. I want Maddy.’
The crease between Ralston’s jet brows deepened. He shook his head wearily. ‘You are too old for a nurse.’
The little boy stuck out his bottom lip and dragged his hand free of his father’s. ‘Want Maddy. Want Maddy. Want Maddy!’ He kicked his feet in time to his chant.
Ralston slammed his fist into the mattress. ‘Enough.’
Sarah jumped and the little boy burst into tears.
Ralston leapt to his feet and strode to the window. He gripped the curtain as if he’d like to tear it to shreds. He looked like a man pushed to the edge of his patience, a man trying to regain control. Well, she knew what that was like; children could be absolute monsters when they wished.
After a moment or two, the Earl drew a deep breath and turned back to his son, his face stern, his eyes dark with regret. ‘Enough, Jonathon. Nurse Maddy is gone. Be a gentleman and shake Mrs Drake’s hand.’
Gone where? Sarah wondered. And why, if the child loved her so much?
Tears running down his cheeks, Jonathon crossed his arms tight over his chest and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. ‘Don’t want to.’
‘I’ll take you up on my horse tomorrow,’ Ralston coaxed.
Oh, dear. No wonder the child threw tantrums. Sarah pressed her lips together: criticism of an employer only led to dismissal.
‘Promise?’ Jonathon said, looking a touch triumphant. At his father’s nod, he untangled his hands.
Ralston beamed. A ray of light shafting down between storm clouds could not have been a more awe-inspiring sight. ‘Good boy.’
Sarah couldn’t prevent a shiver of feminine appreciation as she took the boy’s outstretched hand.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Drake,’ the lad said in a small high voice.
‘Excellent.’ Ralston said. ‘Now that’s done, I will show Mrs Drake to her room.’ He leaned down and gave his son a brief kiss on the forehead. It was a mere brush of lips against delicate blue-veined skin, but it made her heart ache. Whatever his reputation, this man loved his son.
Ralston headed for the door. ‘This way, Mrs Drake.’
What an odd household, to be sure. In the absence of a wife, normally the housekeeper looked after these duties. At the very least a footman should have answered the door.
Sarah smiled at her new pupil. ‘I will see you in the morning, Lord Jonathon. We have lots to learn.’
The boy hunched his shoulder and turned on his side. Clearly the effect of the bribe hadn’t lasted more than a moment.
She followed Ralston out.
‘The candles should be extinguished before the child goes to sleep,’ Sarah said to the footman.
‘Yes, miss. I’ll see to it.’ He stepped inside and closed the door.
It was strange for so young a child not to have a nurse, but a footman would do just as well, she supposed.
An impatient-looking Ralston waited further down the hallway beside an open door. ‘This is your room,’ he said, gesturing her in.
Quelling her continuing astonishment, she squeezed past his large form. Once more the stains on his shirt caught her eye. They really did look like blood. Had he been hunting and not yet changed? Or did his wild appearance have something to do with the nurse’s disappearance? Had the woman sparked the simmering anger she’d just witnessed?
Her heart beat a little faster.
Use your head, Sarah. Only a murderer in one of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels left the evidence of his crime all over
